


Apocalyptic Night Terrors

by ScienceNerds



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24363661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScienceNerds/pseuds/ScienceNerds
Summary: How long does can a nightmare last if time does not exist? How much longer can the Archivist bear to sit by his love's side as he tosses and turns, a tape recorder waiting expectently wherever he looks?Finally, Jon caves to his addictions and records Martin's torment.CW:All non-con sexual stuff is not explicit and is within the nightmareLots of bugs and skinCrushing, underwater depthsChokingSome violence
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Kudos: 17





	Apocalyptic Night Terrors

*Click*

I’m so sorry Martin, I - I can’t wake you and I can’t take it any more. I tried, I swear I tried not to record but this is the only way I can think to get out of your dreams and I- I can’t - I don’t want to see this. 

  
  


Martin Blackwood’s sleep is an anthology of his greatest terrors. From fears that chase him to fears that prickle in his mind to fears that loom, menacing, never quite materializing in a knowable form - they all gather now in a mutating cacophony that never last long enough for his waking mind to recall. Instead, like so often in his life, Mr. Blackwood will be left with only a confusing, aching terror.

The Archivist is relieved that his love will forget his cry of desperation when he catches sight of Jon witnessing this perfect torment and reaches out, only to be swept away and left utterly alone. The Eye relishes in this seemingly bottomless well of fear. 

At the moment, Martin Blackwood hides in a faccimile of the Institute. Something with Daisy’s face reaches over the desk he cowers beneath, snickering. “Oh Martin, you knew you were too far gone.”

Martin shuts his eyes tight and something is wrapped around his throat, yanking him back into empty space. He falls for a sickening moment and lands, a ropelike tendril pinning his neck to the ground. He keeps his eyes closed as his arms and legs are wrapped, pinned, and he is trapped.

Is it tentacles that wrap him? Or vines? He cannot tell as the sickly-slick tendrils leave their stinging slime behind and squeeze. He cannot breathe. Still, the man tries to scream when a familiar itching tickles the bare parts of his skin for those few moments before the digging. Martin Blackwood cannot swat against the worms that begin to pierce under his skin, investigating for fat and muscle and bone. His arms try to thrash, yes, his legs try to kick. But the tendrils do not give even one inch and so he can only scream for his beloved.

There is a gentle whisper in his ear - loving, endearing. A scarred hand cupping his face.

“Oh, my dear. Don’t be afraid.” The voice is so like Jon’s that… even though he knows better, Martin opens his eyes. 

It… it is not the real Jon that Martin sees, but the man does not know that for sure. The hand that carasses down his side is so familier, and Martin sees but does not notice the eyes that cover his love’s face, he feels but does not notice that gentle tickle of eyelashes on his cheeks. It might as well be Jon that straddled his hips with a taunting sway. The rush of lust and shame and fear would be no less if he knew the Archivist was merely watching. For whatever wore Jon’s face only laughed when Martin begged to be freed. 

“But isn’t this everything you wanted, Martin? To finally have me? I need you, I’d do anything for you.” Jon’s lips trace down his chest and Martin cannot move, can do nothing but b-beg to be released. “I love you,” it whispers with a thousand voices that echo, and Martin can feel those eyes drinking in every quiver, every desperate gasping jerk and plea. 

Everything is cold and water and pressure.

Martin’s mind cannot comprehend the change in reality and in his shock he gasps. The water floods into his chest and though the man feels every spasming pain of drowning his consciousness will never fade. He is trying to see his surroundings now, desperate for any escape. There is no need for this fragment to taunt Martin. The cold and dark is almost enough on its own for him to feel the pull of the Lonely. This time he fights, in this dream he is enough of himself to fear for his friends and the man he loves. He has to set things right, he has to help them.

If Martin Blackwood knew there was no threat in this crushing despair, he would have collapsed into it, letting it consume him until the next terror came. But he does not know that he is asleep, and so he fights with everything in his heart to stay, to get back, to protect them. 

Perhaps this was why Martin Blackwood was never able to remember his dreams. The Eye would not want to risk losing the sweetest delight of Martin finally letting his resolve fall and feel his self dissolve, only to feel my eyes, watching him from the darkness.

Martin Blackwood has a body now, but it is not his own. It is a monster’s body. He can see it as repulsion and pity mix in Tim’s expression. He recognizes why Melanie always seems to be facing away from him. He could see it in the mirror and even when he put on his mask it was there in the eyes that leered through. 

His mother’s feeble bones were delicious to this monster. Every day he knocks on her door. He can tell when she opens the door that his mother knows why he has come. Her eyes are just like Tim’s when her son offers her the cup of tea. Still, she opens the door wide and accepts the gift with both hands. Martin kisses her gently on the forehead and drives his monstrous hands into her chest. She does not scream when he snaps off a rib with a jarking crack. Martin steps back, bloody hand holding his mother’s rib to his chest. He says “I love you” and closes the door. 

The spiders have found Martin. Will this terror ever end? How long does a dream last if there is no such thing as time? They crawl over his body, under his clothes and into the crevaces of his ears, but he does not try to fight them. There is no use. 

Martin’s eyes are open and he sees his Archivist again. Somewhere in his heart, there is still a pang of love and hope. But Jon does not rush to his side, only sits and talks and - wait. 

*Scraping of chair*

And the Archivest stands.

*Hurried footsteps*

Martin, can you hear me? It’s me, the- the real me! I’m here, you’re - you’re going to be ok, I promise, I lo-

*silence. A heavy, shaking sigh*

And the Archivist was gone. And Martin is alone again, save the spiders that whisper and crawl and tickle and bite.

I can’t - I shouldn’t have done this, this hasn’t done  _ anything _ and now…

Please wake up, Martin. Please. I’m sorry, I need you.

It’s so loud in here.

*click*


End file.
